I watch Legally Blonde every night, and no one can stop me. As the opening song begins, I sag against my sofa and take a bite of choc bar, watching the familiar scenes in a mesmerized trance. This opening sequence is my downtime. It’s a few minutes when I don’t do anything, just gaze at a pink marshmallow world.
Then, as Reese Witherspoon appears onscreen, it’s my cue to move. I come to and reach for my laptop. I open my emails, take a deep breath as though surveying Mount Everest, then click on the first flagged one.
Dear Karina, I’m so sorry I have not yet got back to you on this. I take a swig of wine. Please accept my apologies.
Two
The next morning, I wake up on the sofa. My hair is still in its elastic, the TV is still on, and there’s a half-drunk glass of red wine on the floor. I can smell its stale aroma, like some kind of noxious air freshener. I must have fallen asleep while I was working.
As I shift uncomfortably and remove my phone from under my left shoulder blade, it lights up with new messages, notifications, and emails. But for once I don’t start scrolling, heart thumping in anxiety, wondering what fresh hell is about to greet me. Instead, I roll back on the sofa and stare at the ceiling, feeling a resolution forming in my brain. I’m going to take action today. Big action. Proper action.
As I rub some belated Olay Total Effects night cream into my skin, I catch my reflection in the mirror and shudder. My winter-white, freckly skin looks like cardboard. My straight dark hair is lifeless. My pale-blue eyes are bloodshot. I look haggard.
But, weirdly, this sight galvanizes me. Maybe I was more stung by the Pret guy’s comments than I realized. He’s right. It is sad. I should not be this person. I should not be in this situation. I should not look so stressed out and haggard. And I should not have to leave my job because the department is badly run.
I go through my options logically. I’ve tried talking to Asher. Doesn’t achieve anything. I’ve tried approaching various other senior types—they all said, “Talk to Asher.” So I need to try further up. Talk to Lev. I don’t have a direct email contact for him; only his assistant does. But I’ll find him. Yes.
I arrive at the office early, feeling wired, and take the lift straight up to the top floor, where Lev’s office is. His assistant, Ruby, is sitting at her glass desk in front of a massive graphic of the distinctive orange Zoose icon, and my business brain registers that it’s a really well designed and impressive space. This company has so many brilliant aspects. Which is what makes it so frustrating that other parts are so crap.
There’s a huge image of Lev, looking as charismatic as ever, with his wild, unbrushed hair and intent gaze. We use his photo a lot in marketing, because he’s so distinctive. So cool-looking. He’s dating a fashion designer called Damian, and the pair of them look like some sort of Vogue shoot.
But cool-looking only takes you so far. I need the real thing. The real man. Some real answers.
“Hi, I’d like to talk to Lev, please,” I say as I approach Ruby, trying to sound matter-of-fact. “Is he in?”
“Do you have an appointment?” She glances at her screen.
“No.”
Somehow I force myself to leave it at that. This is what you have to do in life: just say “No,” without explaining further. I’m not saying I feel comfortable doing that, but I’ve seen it on Instagram. It’s what successful people do.
“No appointment?” She raises her perfectly tweezed eyebrows.
“No.”
“Well, you should make an appointment.”
“It’s urgent.” I try to sound polite. “So perhaps my appointment could be right now?”
“I’m afraid he’s not here.” Ruby lays the information down like a winning card. “So.”
Her eyes have a snide glint to them, and I feel a prickle of antagonism. Since when did everyone in this company become such a bitch?
“Well, maybe you could reach him for me,” I say, as pleasantly as I can. “It’s to do with a crisis in his company, so he might want to listen. He might want to know what’s going on. Because it’s not great, actually. It’s not great at all. And if it were my company, which I’d started from scratch, you know, I’d want to know. So. Maybe you should give him a call.”
I’ve lost my pleasant veneer, I realize. In fact, I sound weirdly intense. But that’s OK. That’s good. It shows I mean business.
Ruby surveys me coolly for a few seconds, then sighs.
“And you are … ?”
I feel a surge of rage. She knows exactly who I am.
“I’m Sasha Worth,” I say politely. “Director of special promotions.”
“Special pro-mo-tions.” She draws out the word elaborately, wrinkling her brow and nibbling on a Zoose-branded pen. “Have you tried discussing this issue with Asher?”
“Yes,” I say shortly. “Lots of times. That hasn’t worked out for me.”
“Have you talked to anyone else?”
“Several people. They all tell me to go to Asher. But, you see, talking to Asher doesn’t achieve anything. So I want to talk to Lev.”
“Well, I’m afraid he’s not available.”
How does she even know that? She’s been sitting right here, making no attempt to reach him.
“Well, have you tried him? Have you called him?”
Ruby rolls her eyes, not disguising her contempt.
“There’s no point calling him,” she says, in a super-slow, patronizing tone, “because he’s not available.”
Something strange is happening to me. All the noises in the surrounding offices are getting louder. My breath is coming faster and faster. I don’t feel quite in control of myself.
“Well, there must be someone,” I say, taking a step forward. “OK? In this entire company, there must be someone. So please find them. Now. Because I have a problem and Asher hasn’t fixed it and no one seems able to fix it, and I’m losing the plot. I. Am. Losing. The. Plot. I’ve gone off sex, do you know that?” My voice is getting shrill. “That’s not normal, is it? To go off sex? I’m thirty-three!”
Ruby opens her eyes wide and I can already see her relaying this whole conversation to her mates over drinks later, but I do not care. I do not care.
“Oooooo-kay,” she says. “I’ll see what I can do.”
She types busily, then pauses, and I see her register some new piece of information on her screen. At last she looks up and shoots me a cold smile.
“Someone’s coming to talk to you. Would you like to take a seat?”
My head churning, I sit down on the nearby sofa, which is covered in an orange and green retro print. There’s a bowl of vegan snacks on the coffee table, several tech magazines, and a new brand of filtered water in an eco-paper bag. I remember sitting here when I interviewed for the job. Double-checking my outfit. Running through all the reasons I would be thrilled to join such an exciting, dynamic company.
“Sasha. What’s up?”
My chest clenches as I hear the familiar strident voice. This is who Ruby has summoned? Joanne? I can hardly bring myself to look at her as she plonks herself down on the sofa in her casual blazer and flared jeans combo and shakes her head reprovingly.